


Singular

by JoMarch



Series: Exit Strategy [30]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMarch/pseuds/JoMarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Did you sleep with him?"</i>  Sequel to Ryo's <i>Exit Strategy: I'd Probably Lie. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Singular

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: _Ways and Means, On the Day Before._  
>  Disclaimer: They are usually in much better hands than mine.  
> Thanks: To Ryo and Morgan for the excellent advice and the general hand-holding through the writing trauma.

"Did you sleep with him?"

Josh is standing in my doorway, still wearing his tux. Four hours after the dinner, his hair looks like he's been trying to pull it out by the roots and two of his shirt buttons have come undone. Obviously, he never got around to putting on another tie.

If he'd just keep his damn mouth shut, he'd be perfect.

"Josh, it's 3 a.m.," I point out, "and you shouldn't be here."

"I won't stay," he answers, walking past me into the living room and helping himself to a seat on the couch.

Typical. We are the king and queen of mixed signals these days. Since May, we've been... I don't even know how to describe our relationship any more. We're not lovers; some days I wonder if we're even friends. Half the time he's distant, shutting me out of his life completely. Then suddenly we'll turn back into JoshandDonna again, two stars circling one another, each unable to break free of the other's orbit.

Frankly, I'm beginning to hate this bond we have. There are days I wish I didn't have to deal with Josh and his brooding and his political machinations and his complete paranoia about the Congressional hearings. There are days when I long for that sense of absolute freedom I felt the moment I got into my car and drove from Wisconsin to New Hampshire. The idea of running in the opposite direction from Josh and everything associated with him sounds very liberating lately.

Which actually may explain the question I've been asking myself for the last few days: What the hell I was doing going out with a Republican in the first place? I mean, if dating a Republican is not running in the opposite direction from Josh Lyman, what is?

Once, not so long ago, a late night visit from Josh would have been a treat. I would have had him out of that tux in a matter of minutes. We would have been talking and laughing and making love. Now? Now I just wish he'd go away. I'd like some privacy. For once, I'd like to be the one who sits in a dark room and broods. Just once, I would like to make a decision without worrying about how what I do will affect Josh.

I'd like to be single. I'd like to be Donna, alone, not half of JoshandDonna.

I think about being truly single again a lot these days. God knows I love Josh, I really do; that hasn't changed. It's just that there are days when I am tired of being responsible for the care and feeding of Joshua Lyman. I'm certainly tired of the secrecy and the trauma and, dear God, the very thought of being perky is more than I can handle.

But I'm trapped. That is the irony of this whole damn situation. I was on my way out; I had my escape planned. But, no, he pulled me back in again. He started talking about Dogstars and sparkly space dust and he made love to me. Before I knew it, I was agreeing to stay. And now I can't leave. No one can leave. If anyone leaves, it looks bad for the President.

Some couples stay together for the sake of the children. Josh and I are together for the sake of the administration.

Together in a boss-and-assistant sense, that is. Because if anyone suspected that Josh and I had been lovers, that would look bad too.

Which brings me to the second reason for the ill-fated dates with Cliff: What better way to say, "I am not screwing my boss, the fiercely partisan Democrat," than to date a Republican?

"Are you here for a reason, Josh?"

He crosses his arms, looks up at me, and glares. "I'd like an answer to my question."

"You want to know whether I slept with Cliff."

"Cliff? Oh, let me guess. He's some tall, Nordic type. Probably with a strong, heroic jaw. A manly man, making the world safe for multinational conglomerates."

It's not worth getting into this argument now. Besides, if I agree with him, maybe he'll leave sooner. "Yes, Josh, that's exactly what he's like. And now that you have made me see the error of my ways and spared me the horror of a third date, you should feel free to leave."

Josh responds by leaning back against the couch, stretching out his legs and looking for all the world like he's planning to settle in for the night.

Because he thinks I'm an idiot. Because he thinks I have spent nearly four years of my life watching him in countless meetings without learning how he uses his body and his surroundings to make a point. To get information. To intimidate the opposition.

Me.

In case I didn't get the message the first time, he moves forward far enough to shrug off his jacket, tossing it to one side, thereby claiming the rest of the couch as his territory.

"Did you sleep with him?" he asks again.

It will be a cold day in hell before he gets an answer to that question.

"That's none of your damn business," I reply.

"Do you want me to list the number of ways in which it is my business? One," he says, tapping his index fingers together to emphasize his point, "there's the obvious conflict of interest. As your boss, I have to be concerned about that."

"I already told you that I went out with Cliff. I told you that I will not be going out with Cliff again. That is all the information you need."

He looks as though he'd like to debate that point. Instead, he continues emphatically ticking his points off on his fingers. "Two, again as your boss--"

"This has very little to do with your being my boss, and we both know it."

"As your boss," he repeats, "I have every right to be concerned with whether you might have divulged any sensitive information during -- well, during."

"You are perilously close to crossing a line you don't want to cross with me, Josh Lyman."

"It's a legitimate concern," he repeats, his face completely expressionless.

"First, what the hell sensitive information do I know? Second, when have you ever known me to talk about stuff like that during sex anyway?"

"So you did sleep with him," Josh concludes. And his face is still stony. Not hurt, not angry, not jealous -- just this emotionless mask. Who the hell can tell what he's feeling?

"That's not what I said."

"You didn't sleep with him?"

"I didn't say that either."

He nods and goes on with his damn bullet points. "Three, as the man you are going to marry--"

"The man I was going to marry. Past tense."

"Fine. Past tense. Given our history, I have some personal interest in your welfare."

"Translation: You are an arrogant, selfish bastard who can't stand the idea that I might care for someone more than I cared for you."

It takes him a minute to come back from that one; but when he does, he goes for blood. "Absolutely. Because really, Donna -- sex with a Republican? That must have been a real treat for you." He finally stands up, but he keeps his distance from me. Which is a wise idea because I am ready to hit him. "I'm curious," he goes on. "What was it like? I'm thinking it was your basic 'man on top, get it over with fast.'"

"Yeah, you just crossed the line right there. You'll be leaving now."

"I mean, I feel sad for you because I know you've never been a real fan of the missionary position and--"

"I am telling you to get out of my home now."

He does look stricken, I'll give him that. He tries moving closer to me, but I move away. I honestly can't stand the thought of him touching me right now.

"I only want to know--"

I don't give him a chance to finish that thought. "You have no right to know anything about my relationship with Cliff," I tell him. "The last few months you've been running hot and cold on me. One minute you're distant, the next you're downright cruel, then you turn around and expect me to act as though nothing's changed between the two of us."

"Well, I'm sorry about that, Donna," he says in that voice that always makes me think he's talking down to me ("the self-worth voice" is how I've labelled it), "but I've been a little busy trying to keep us all employed. Not to mention out of jail."

I concede the point. "I know that. But, dear God, I am so tired of waking up every morning and not knowing what kind of mood you're going to be in, of not knowing whether you're going to act like you care about me at all today. I want something in my life that's less complicated. A nice, simple relationship."

"So now this thing with the Republican is a relationship?" He has this note of panic in his voice. I have no idea whether it's real.

Because that's the thing about spending so much time watching him play the opposition. I know all his tricks. I know he's capable of playing to an opponent's weakness, and he knows this is mine. This innate need I have to take care of him; he won't hesitate to use that to his advantage.

"You are not doing this to me again," I say.

"Doing what?" He sounds confused. Score one for me.

"This," I answer. I am on the verge of tears, but that's only because I am so damn angry. "This thing where you blow up and throw all sorts of horrible words in my direction. And then you turn all contrite, and I'm supposed to overlook it and make a joke and tell you we're all right. Well, we're not all right, Josh. We stopped being all right months ago. We stopped being anything months ago."

"Donna--"

"Do you have the slightest idea what is going on in my life anymore? Do you think the biggest worry I've got is whether to see Cliff again or which box I put the damn list in? I've got bigger things on my mind at the moment."

"Like what?"

"Like these." I move over to the kitchen table and pick up a stack of bills. "Paying my lawyer, for a start. I've accumulated more than $1000 in legal debts already, and I don't even testify for another week. Do I look like someone who has an extra thousand lying around? So you'll forgive me if the big worry in my life at the moment isn't whether you're upset over the thought of my sleeping with the enemy."

Josh takes the bills out of my hands. "I can pay these for you."

"No, you can't." I snatch the bills back before he can memorize the address. "Besides the fact that it looks improper, I don't want you to. They're my debts; I'll take care of them myself."

And that's when he touches me on the shoulder. I know what that is: It's his "come here" gesture. The one that inevitably precedes his wrapping me up in his arms, kissing me until I can't think straight, and then leading me to the nearest bed. Or couch. Sometimes the floor will do. Once or twice, it was the kitchen counter. I've always been a big fan of his "come here" gesture.

Not tonight.

Tonight I move away before he can hug me. "Donna," he says, "I--" Yeah, I know exactly what he's going to say. The last weapon in his arsenal. He'll say he loves me, and all will be well.

"Don't say it," I tell him. "I am not inclined to believe you tonight. And I really want you to leave."

The mask is slipping. He's giving me a look that reads like genuine shock. Because, after all, he never suspected that his little Girl Friday could turn on him like this. "We'll talk tomorrow," he says after a minute.

"No, Josh, we won't."

"We work together. We have to talk."

"Not about things that aren't work-related. And, quite frankly, I've reached the point where I'd rather not be working for you."

Yeah, that look of panic is genuine. "You don't mean that," he says.

But I do. That's the moment when it finally hits me, just how much I want out of this whole tangled mess. "I know I can't quit right now," I say. "I know that, in the middle of this investigation, it would be bad. But as soon as possible. I'd like to leave. It's not like this is a new idea, Josh. I've been planning to quit for months."

"You were planning to quit so we could get married."

"Well, that part of the plan has changed, hasn't it?"

I watch him carefully as he tries to slip back into politician mode and fails, tries to pretend he's not affected by what I've said. But his own anger is too great, and he's working himself up to using the full weight of the Lyman sarcasm against me. "This would be your subtle way of saying you don't love me?"

"I love you, Josh. I just don't like you very much lately. And please don't think you can get me to change my mind about this."

Being Josh, of course, he has to have the last word, and I just gave him the perfect opening.

"What exactly makes you think I would want you to stay?"

The apartment is blessedly quiet when he leaves. After I fix myself a cup of tea, I sit down on the couch. Maybe I'll watch TV -- an old movie, something totally devoid of political scandals or broken engagements. Josh has left his tuxedo jacket on the couch, and I slip it on over my shoulders. I've done this sort of thing a hundred times, putting on a piece of his clothing when he's not here. Jackets are especially nice. When I put on his jacket, it's like feeling his shoulders around me. That always makes me feel warm and protected and loved.

I don't feel a damn thing, wearing his jacket tonight. There's no sense of him attached to it. There's nothing here tonight except me. I've finally got what I want, I suppose. No more talk about Dogstars and sparkly space dust. No more JoshandDonna. There's just me.

Donna, alone.

Singular.

Free.

THE END

11.04.01


End file.
